The Masks We Hold
by Etimire T
Summary: Stiles touched on the abyss somewhere back in his head and quickly pulled away from it. He felt like his skull had been opened up and someone forgot to put his head back in place. Almost against his will, his eyes flicked to the mirror. He prepared himself for his glowing eyes, sharp teeth, frayed edges. But he was just Stiles. For now. (Stiles is a changeling and no one knew)
1. Chapter 1

Stiles woke up to Lydia screaming.

He flung himself out of bed, crashed into his desk, and dropped completely on the floor before he could do anything but think Danger! Bad!

And then he heard her crying.

Stiles scrambled for the light at his bedside table, succeeding in only knocking it too the floor where the light bulb cracked. Stiles cursed. His sheet was still tied around him and a very cold breeze pushed through the room. The window was open. Moonlight streamed inside and rain started to pour through the open window.

Lydia dropped to the floor. She had been silhouetted by the moonlight, but now she was a huddled black lump on the floor. Any fogginess from sleep was now thoroughly purged from Stile's mind.

"Lydia? Holy crap, Lydia-" Finally managing to rid himself of the sheet, he crawled over the carpet and grabbed her by her shoulders with more intensity than he really intended.

She jumped, hands up to defend herself, and seemed about to jerk away but her eyes met his. She stilled, although her entire body was trembling. There was a cloud of incomprehension over her eyes, but Stiles kept talking to her. He didn't know what he was saying exactly, and it didn't matter. After a few minutes, she was breathing with him. Her scream still echoed in his ears

The cloud lifted. She relaxed slightly and then she looked around his room, baffled. "Stiles?" she croaked.

"Yeah, it's me."

"How did I-?"

Before she could continue, Stile's door flew open and they both shrieked now, crawling away from the door in unison. But the hallway light revealed a very tousled Noah Stilinski, who appeared to have jumped out of bed just as rapidly as Stiles. He had his gun in his hand, Stiles noted. "What on earth is going on!"

Silence.

Stiles cleared his throat and raised a placating hand. "We're fine. Everything's fine. It's just Lydia."

Noah blinked. He squinted down at the girl on the floor. She looked very small then, not at all the bossy, larger than life, completely impeccable girl they were used to. She looked confused and afraid and very wet.

Noah dropped his gun to his side and scrubbed a hand over his face. He glanced around the room briefly before switching on the light. It was obvious now that the light was on what had happened. The lamp was broken on the floor, the window wide open and sending drops of rain onto a pile of homework Stiles had been neglecting. Noah shut the window.

"Did she- did you climb through the here?"

Lydia didn't say anything. She blinked, her eyes wide like a deer's caught in headlights. "I… I don't know."

Wonderful. Stiles got to his feet. "Can you stand?" He reached out a hand to help her, but Lydia pushed him away, her face suddenly heated with embarrassment. She pulled herself up and pursed her lips, slowly drawing that curtain of perfection around her again. She was wearing pink shorts and a dark t-shirt, both which were soaked to the bone. She swiped her wet her behind her ears and hugged her arms to herself. "Well?" she said after a moment.

Both Stalinski's stared at her without understanding.

She rolled her eyes.

"Are you going to offer me a towel or do I need to beg for it?"

Stiles nodded rapidly. "Oh. Right. I'll just-" He dashed out of the room and came back a moment later. She'd sat down at his desk chair and Noah was crouched, talking to her quietly when Stiles came back.

"I, uh, I figured you might want something dry to wear as well." He handed her a pair of basketball shorts and a white t-shirt along with a towel, and his dad nodded approvingly.

Lydia, on the other hand, was less than impressed. She took the clothes, smelled them, and apparently decided they would do.

Stiles fidgeted. "They're probably too big but-"

"They're fine, Stiles." She smiled at him, sort of. She had this way of smiling that didn't really move the corners of her mouth. It was a sad sort of smile that she did not wear often and Stiles couldn't tell if this was a real one. He wasn't sure if he liked it or not. On one hand, it wasn't carefree and completely fake, like she sometimes wore at school, but it was still hiding a sort of sadness.

How funny. A year or two ago, she might have rejected the offer completely. She probably would have thrown an absolute fit about having to wear his clothes. But a lot had happened in those few years. Lydia was a royal pain in the behind, but she also had grown some sense, Stiles thought. They all had. Danger did that to a person. Death did that to a person.

So after a few moments of quiet talk, Stiles and his father stepped out of the room so that she could change.

The instant the door closed, his dad hit Stiles with a look. "What's going on here, Stiles?"

Stiles balked. "You know, I don't really appreciate the insinuation that I automatically must have done something bad for things to happen. I mean, it's totally inconsiderate-"

"Stiles-"

"I have no idea. I woke up to her screaming. She must have been sleepwalking."

Stalinski raised an eyebrow. "She walked all the way across town, more than ten miles, while she was asleep. And she ended up. In your bedroom."

Stiles shrugged. "I mean, I slept walked into the middle of the forest so-"

"You were- no, you were possessed, Stiles. I don't think that counts as normal sleepwalking-"

"Who said it was normal? She's a banshee! She predicts evil and death and all that with her screams." He might have taken a moment to contemplate just who's death she'd been screaming about in his bedroom, but he didn't really want to. And then he didn't have to because Lydia opened the door, startling the both of them into silence.

Stiles was not going to deny that seeing Lydia Martin in his bed clothes did something to him, but he really have time for that right now. He nodded once, cleared his throat, and stepped back so that she could come out of the room completely.

Lydia had brushed her hair somehow, and she had her arms wrapped around her stomach tightly. Her feet were bare and muddy but surprisingly unharmed. "This is only slightly less awkward than walking through the forest naked, but I suppose not much competes with that."

Stiles had to agree, but he didn't say anything. He was sort of stuck, completely unsure how to proceed and not wanting to look like he was staring at her, but not sure where else to look and-

"How about we sit down." Stiles breathed a quiet sigh of relief, glad that his dad was taking control. Stilinski laid a gentle hand on her shoulder and guided Lydia down the hall and into the kitchen. They sat down at the kitchen table and Stiles followed them, tripping on the edge of the carpet and almost knocking over the only remaining glass lamp they had in the entire house (he'd broken them all over the years). He caught it, however, and his dad gave him a short glare before turning back to Lydia.

"How about you get in touch with Lydia's mother," Stalinski said to him.

Stiles nodded maybe too many times. "Yeah. Yeah, I'll do that." So he went back to his room, grabbed his cell phone, and scrolled through his contacts. He had Lydia's number and her mothers.

He'd gotten her mother's number after an unfortunate phase at age fourteen where he spent a good portion of his time trying to figure out ways to contact Lydia, only to never actually call her or her mother (thank god). But either way, he still had her number.

As he wandered back into the kitchen, he could hear the sound of clanking dishes. Lydia spoke in a soft voice. "No, I don't remember, Mr. Stalinski."

"Does… does this sort of thing happen to you… usually?"

Stiles paused in the hallway, phone at his ear but not dialed.

"It's sort of hard to… I guess usually I'm awake, and then I find myself where I need to be."

"And where is that usually?"

"Usually?"

Dead silence. Clinking silverware. Stiles guessed his dad gave her cereal, which was the default action in the Stalinski house.

Stiles kept listening.

"Sweetheart, it's okay. You can tell me the truth."

Lydia huffed. She was upset. Stiles could tell. But she was doing a nice job of covering it up. "Usually, I end up finding a body. But there aren't any dead bodies here, obviously, so it must have been a fluke! I honestly might have just been sleepwalking like a… normal individual." Was she smiling that smile again? Or was it the other smile she wore at school; the one that didn't entirely hide how frightened she was? Was it the blank, I'm-a-dumb-teenage-girl smile she liked to put on?

The silence after that was so skeptical, Stiles could almost smell it. "I don't think you even know where we live, Lydia."

"Yes, it's very strange. Do you think Stiles has my mom on the phone yet?"

That was his cue. Stiles rounded the corner, phone out. "You better not be feeding her my Lucky Charms. I'm saving those for the apocalypse." He handed Lydia the phone and she took it with an eye roll. Meanwhile, his dad narrowed his gaze, not quite sure if Stiles meant that or not.

"I wouldn't put those dyes in my body," Lydia said. She took another spoonful of what appeared to be wheat-thins and then put the phone to her ear. The conversation with her mother was short. "Hi, Mom… yeah. No, I'm fine… I'm with the Sheriff, actually… not like that! It's fine. I… um…" She glanced at Stiles's dad, and Stalinski held his hand out for the phone. She gave it to him.

"Yes, hello, Mrs. Martin. I found her wandering around outside… yeah completely asleep... I'll drive her back. Don't worry… oh absolutely… Of course… See you soon… no problem."

Stiles noted the slight fib his father gave. 'Wandering around outside' was more plausible and less worrying than 'happened to break into my son's room', he supposed.

Lydia stirred her soggy wheat-thins and wouldn't look at Stiles when he tried to catch her eye.

As soon as his father hung up, he sighed and stood up. "I'm going to get some shoes on and a jacket, then I'll drive you home, alright?"

Lydia nodded. When it was just Stiles and Lydia in the kitchen, Stiles scrambled for a seat and leaned in. "Okay, so what do you know?"

Lydia scowled. "I don't know anything-"

"No-" Stiles shook his head. "Don't do that. I'm not stupid. You were screaming in my bedroom and if I'm going to die soon, I would like to know about it." He felt shockingly calm about this. Things didn't phase them like him used to. After all, death couldn't be any worse than being possessed. In fact, Stiles imagined it was like a refreshing nap in comparison to that. A shiver ran through the back of his mind. No, he would far rather be dead than be anything but himself thank you very much. This wasn't to say that he wanted to die, but he was not afraid of it as much as he might have been otherwise. It had been weeks since they killed the nogitsune and sure, he wasn't exactly in perfect mental health, but he was managing. Compartmentalizing. He could do that. If he kept thinking enough thoughts fast enough, he could cover up the ones he didn't like.

Lydia stirred her soggy wheat-thins.

"I don't remember anything. I'm not… this isn't always reliable, Stiles. I've been wrong before and I could easily be wrong again."

Stiles chewed his lip and sat back. "Fine. Okay, fine. So I'm supposed to just sit on this and pretend it didn't happen? Because that is so dumb and I know you're not dumb."

Lydia was silent again. "We'll talk to Scott at school. Maybe… maybe it was someone else's death."

Or maybe Lydia was just getting better at this whole predicting thing and actually managed to find someone before they died. Like banshees usually did.

Stiles forced down is irritation and looked up when his dad came back in the room with a rain jacket on and a pair of sneakers. Stiles jumped up. "I'll come with you guys-"

"No," His dad shook his head. "Stiles, you have school tomorrow. You need to go back to sleep. You both have to be up in four hours."

"But-"

"No buts." His dad gave him a look and Stiles grumbled but agreed. There wasn't any real reason for him to come anyhow.

However, once Lydia and his dad shut the door behind them and left Stiles in a very empty house with too many lights on for this late at night (or early in the morning depending on how you put it) he wished he had protested more.

There was no way he could possibly go back to sleep.

School came rapidly and Stiles found himself locking his jeep up in the school parking lot. He ruffled his hair in the window's reflection, but it didn't look any better.

He looked different after the whole nogitsune thing. It wasn't super obvious, but it was there. His eyes were darker and a bit more alert than Stiles remembered. His hair didn't stay flat and tame the way he wanted it. He was pale and thin and sleep deprived (and that honestly couldn't be helped. He was trying but sleep was an enemy he had wrestled with for too long). A few days ago, one of the school stoners asked him what he was on, which was a little jarring. Sometimes Stiles would see himself in reflections and for a second, his heart would start hammering. Its back it's back we didn't kill it it's back.

But the nogitsune wasn't back. It was just the tinted window and his own messed up face looking back at him. He probably needed therapy. He probably needed a lot of things, a complete brain-wipe of that entire experience, for one. If he could just forget about it, it would be so much easier.

Stiles turned away from his window, shrugged his backpack on and jogged toward the building. He was early for school, which was a first, but he hoped to catch Scott before the first period so he could tell him about Lydia.

There were students milling around, talking to each other, laughing, generally being dumb like kids are supposed to be. Stiles scanned the courtyard for any of his friends. Despite Scott's recent popularity, Stiles hadn't reaped a lot of benefits social-circle-wise from being the best friend of the lacrosse team captain (not that he cared). He didn't know a lot of people, and not many people cared about him. He was still the kinda weird kid that spoke too loud on accident and was usually in detention for something stupid like flicking his pencil into the ceiling tiles or dropping things everywhere or spilling milk or happening to be in the wrong place at the wrong time always. So yeah, nothing really had changed. Except for Lydia, he admitted. He knew Lydia now, which would have had fifteen-year-old Stiles skipping around the courtyard for joy.

Stiles took out his phone.

Where are you?

He waited a minute, leaning against a tree and chewing his lip incessantly.

omw why?

Stiles didn't know how Scott was texting on a motorcycle.

Lydia-

"What about her?"

Stiles jumped about three feet in the air before pocketing his phone and spinning around. "Scott! I hate it when you do that!"

Scott smiled. "I know. What was that about Lydia?"

Stiles's stomach squirmed. He had to tell him because he was pretty sure Lydia wouldn't, but that didn't mean conveying a death omen was any easier. "Last night she-" An uneasy commotion rippled across the courtyard, and Stiles stopped.

They frowned and pushed their way toward the knot of students that was forming near the back end of the school, the side nearest the forest. "What's going on?"

"I dunno-"

But in a moment, they stood still, stunned as they looked out at the field behind the school. Stiles's stomach dropped.

Deer, squirrels, raccoons, opossums, a few coyotes, hundreds of birds of all types. They all lay dead across the lawn, their heads crushed in. Someone gagged and ran off. People started shouting, calling for teachers, calling for anyone. Scott and Stiles just stared.

"Look-" Scott pointed at the back end of the building. Stiles looked and wished he hadn't. The wall was completely covered in blood except for a large symbol that the blood dripped around as if that part of the wall was pushing the pain away. The symbol resembled a P, but with the curved part in the center of the line. Or perhaps a triangle that's vertical edge continued past its edges. Or a half-mast triangular flag, Stiles settled on. Duh. A flag. He didn't know what it meant but something (besides the bloody, dead animals everywhere) set him on edge.

He felt like he was standing on the thin tip of a pane of glass and it he moved even slightly, he'd fall into a deep abyss. Stiles didn't dare move. Something whispered in the back of his mind but he couldn't understand-

"Stiles!"

Stiles shook himself and the feeling fled. "Hmm?"

"The animals. They threw themselves into the wall." Scott grimaced. Stiles didn't blame him. They stared at the debauchery until someone demanded they go inside. A teacher was moving everyone along, calling out orders. The school bell rung. Someone called the cops along with animal control, and Stiles fell inside the school along with the crowd.

However, he slipped back out the minute a teacher wasn't looking at him. He ducked behind a bush and watched as cop cars drove up. His dad was one of the first. Noah Stilinski took one look at the wall and sighed tiredly. They were stepping around dead animals, in a field soaked in blood, and Stiles didn't envy that one bit.

This had to be what Lydia was warning them about. Or it was at least part of it. He pushed the leaves away from his face to get a better view. He was practically inside the entire bush.

As he watched, another car drove up. It wasn't one he was familiar with, but he recognized the face inside. Dr. Deaton. The veterinarian. Stiles cocked his head. That was weird. They didn't usually call vets right away like that. And animal control was already here, getting ready to dispose of the bodies. They were dead. Why did they need a vet? Stiles watched Deaton exit his car and join Stiles's dad on the field. Ah, that made more sense. Dad called him.

Deaton's mouth was open, mid-sentence when he saw the wall. And seemingly, the symbol on the wall. His face grew slack and he took a nervous step back, glancing at the Sheriff. Stiles strained to hear their voices and he wished Scott had done the responsible thing and come outside here with him so that he could hear what was being said. But he couldn't hear anything because they were much too far away.

"Stalinski!"  
Stiles cursed and fumbled but someone grabbed him by the collar and pulled him out of the bush with surprising strength before depositing him on the concrete. Stiles looked up with a smile. He had leaves in his hair. "Hey, Coach. You look nice today! Did you get a haircut?"

"Shut your trap, Stalinski!" His coach barked. Barking was kind of his default, though, so it wasn't exactly frightening. "Get inside and mind your own business, you Kreetan!"

"But the-"

"Do you want another detention?"  
Stiles blinked a few times. "Ah... uh, another? What do you mean another?"

Coach laughed. "On top of the one you already have for not being in class right now, of course-!" He dragged Stiles to his feet and pushed him toward the building.

"Aw, Coach-"

"Literally! Shut! Up! Stalinski!"

Coach was talking loud enough that Stiles's dad actually turned his head at the mention of their name. Stiles's dad caught Stiles's eye and Stiles waved cheerily before being forcefully pushed through the front doors and into the dreaded horror that was high school.

The last sight he got was the terrified eyes of Dr. Deaton, who was looking straight at him in a way that suddenly killed every spark of snark in Stiles's belly. The door closed and Stiles stood still, stunned.

The hall was silent.

At that moment, Stiles knew very suddenly, and with complete, composed clarity that he was going to die.


	2. Chapter 2

The animals were just the beginning.

Over the next few days, strange thing continued to happen. Massive flowers grew out of every grave in the local graveyard. Poison ivy completely encompassed the library overnight. Cats went missing all over town and were found all congregated together at a lookout point in the forest outside of town. They were alive, but they all stared over the edge of the cliff and had not woken from their trance yet, even when their owners came to retrieve them. A dog was found strangled by his own leash. The leash was not attached to anything. And at each location, there was the same symbol, a half-mast ᚹ, carved somewhere.

Stiles tried searching what it meant and had yet to find anything. He was fairly certain it was a rune. A Celtic rune. But every time he tried to get on the internet, something happened. The wifi went out, the _power_ went out, his dad called him, Scott told him there was another scene, etc. It had to be the worst stroke of luck he had ever experienced.

And worse yet, their only expert on _anything_ was missing. Scott and Stiles had gone over to the vet several times, but each time, it was closed and Deaton was not there. Scott went to work and found a note saying Deaton had closed up shop for a few days, which was baffling because Deaton _never_ closed. He didn't 'take vacations'.

"Maybe something's wrong,"

Scott, Malia, Stiles, and Kira all sat in Scott's living room in various displays of urgency. Kira, Lydia, and Scott were at the table, pouring over a library book for the rune. Stiles personally was lying on the couch and taking up way too much room and pretending that this didn't concern him at all. Malia was on the other side, also taking up too much room.

Malia and he had settled into a friendship, which was odd and not what Stiles had expected, but actually not as awkward as he thought it would be. It helped that Malia did not hide her feelings whatsoever. What had happened in that basement hadn't exactly been planned but Malia didn't seem the slightest bit interested in a relationship with him. Stiles found that he was alright with that. He didn't love her. He liked her, sure. She was pretty and she'd offered him something comforting at a time when he thought he might not live much longer. But they decided early after all the drama of the nogitsune that that was not going to happen again. Malia's complete lack of embarrassment about these things helped that conversation. She did not pursue him, and when he asked her about it, she had looked at him with open eyes that were caring and kind and a little confused, but not mean or offended. She told him he smelled nice and she found him enjoyable to be around, but she was not going to carry his children (this had sent him sputtering for several minutes). It was blunt but sometimes you needed to be a bit blunt. "Uh… friends then, I suppose?"

Malia had squinted at him. "An alliance?"

"Sure?" he squeaked. "If that's what you understand friends to be?"

"... I approve."

And now it had been a month and they were shoving each other for some room on a couch that had space for at least four people when you sat on it properly. They were not sitting on it properly. "Move your freaking foot, Malia. You're gonna rupture my kidney."

She growled at him.

"Something is most definitely wrong," Scott mumbled. He mashed the last of his pizza crust into his plate with his thumb. "But I have literally no way to find him. He's done something to his scent. It doesn't leave the vet. I didn't smell blood or anything, though, so I suppose that's something."

"Have you tried talking Derek?" Lydia asked.

"He's gone. Like usual."

"Could you go to Deaton's house?"

Scott frowned. "I don't know where he lives."

Stiles rolled his eyes from the couch. "Then google it, Scott."

"I can't just google someone's address."

"Watch me." Stiles gave Malia another shove before jumping up and grabbing his laptop out of his backpack. He sat back down on the couch (normally, this time) and Malia watched him with detached interest. Lydia came near as well and sat down on the couch armrest. It didn't take Stiles long. He had access to the police database (his dad would actually kill him if he knew that) which made it incredibly easy. Karia, who had been quiet for most of this time, now spoke up nervously. "You're not going to get in trouble for that, are you?"

They all gave her a remarkably synchronized _are you kidding me?_ look to which she raised her hands in surrender. Kira was kinda weird and Stiles thought she was fine as a person, but he didn't know her that well and he didn't know what about her had Stiles so enamored. Then again, that wasn't really his business. She was still into 'not breaking the law' which was so outside of Stiles's range of concern that it actually was alarming. There was a werewolf, a banshee, a fox spirit thingy, and a... a Stiles, in one room and she was really concerned about breaking privacy laws (of which this wasn't even one?)? This sounded like he hated her, which he didn't! He really didn't! He just… "Look, Kira," He took the laptop off his lap and bent toward her. " _Magic_ is _killing_ things. We're trying to stop it. They will thank us later when they give us the town key."

Malia cocked her head. "What's a town key-?"  
Stiles rolled his eyes. "Malia, you are why we can't have nice things. Scott-"

"Calm down, Stiles." Scott stood up. They all followed suit, a little surprised by his sudden movement. "We've got the address. I'll go see if he's home."

They glanced at each other as if determining whether or not they wanted to continue to argue. Which Stiles did. "Uh, I'm coming with you."

"I'll come too," said Lydia.

Scott considered this, shrugged. "Fine. What about you two?" Kira and Malia glanced at each other. Malia sighed. "I have… the homework."

"My mom wants me back for dinner. So," Kira smiled at Scott ruefully. "I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Yeah," Scott smiled back, kissed her lightly, and then they all made their way to the door.

Stiles and Lydia road together with Scott following behind them. She gingerly sat down in the passenger seat of Stile's jeep, and Stiles really tried to not be embarrassed but he was suddenly hyper-aware of every single weird stain everywhere in this car. "Uh, sorry. I know its kind of a mess but-"

"Just drive, Stiles."

"Yep, okay, on it"

He kept glancing at her as they drove. He couldn't really help it. It wasn't until he nearly missed a turn that she returned his look. He expected a snarky jab, but instead, she just looked sad.

He frowned. "What's wrong?"

"What, are you serious?" Lydia twisted her hands in the fabric of her skirt before taking a breath, smoothing it out, and clasping her hands neatly. But a second later she was just wringing them together.

Stiles turned left. He guessed he wasn't sure if he _was_ serious or not. Things had been wrong for so long he wasn't exactly phased. They continued in silence until Lydia squirmed.

"You're going to be fine, you know."

Stiles snorted. "Yeah. I know." A pause and then Lydia abruptly slapped his arm. " _Ow_! What was that for?"

Lydia scowled at him. "Why are you so calm?"

He was trying to keep his eyes on the road and on her at the same time. "What are you talking about?"  
"I came into your room _screaming_. That's the thing that I do! That's my whole deal!" She gestured wildly as she talked. "You're not _dead_ but you _should_ be! That's the purpose of the scream! And you're just _sitting there_ bickering with Malia and eating pizza and playing with Scott and _gods_ , it's like you _don't even care_! How _dare_ you not care! Have you even _told_ him?"

The answer was no. He hadn't told Scott about the scream. He hadn't told anyone. Stiles kept thinking there wasn't a perfect moment. But he was just afraid of Scott's response. Scott would quarantine him for the rest of his life and treat him like he was needy. It wouldn't be on purpose, but Scott would give him these sad, pitying puppy-dog looks. Stiles had his fill of those right after the nogitsune. He didn't need that continual reminder of how fragile he was compared to the rest of them. This would just make it worse. Lydia seemed to be following suit.

Stiles shut his jaw with a click. He tightened his grip on the wheel and suddenly it was much easier to only look at the road. He didn't know how to respond to her. Heck, he hadn't thought she felt that strongly about the whole issue. Which was stupid, of course. She was his friend. Of course, she didn't want him to die. He knew that. He knew that intellectually. It was probably why she hadn't told Scott herself. It wasn't real if no one else knew about it.

He swallowed thickly. "I _do_ care." He cursed under his breath. "You think I'm not _terrified_ , Lydia? Hmm? You think I can sleep at night, _not at all worried s_ omething might kill me while I'm in bed? You think I don't spend every waking moment trying not to think about this _thing_ that _you_ did-"

"You can't _blame-_ "

"I'm not! But I'd rather _not have known_ all the same!" His heart hammered in his throat and his body quivered. He was furious all at once. "If it were my choice, I'd probably be curled in a hole with, like, ten guns around me and a- a _bat_ and one of the Argents bombs or whatever, hoping for the best! But no, I'm not going to do that! Is that what you want? Is that what you want from me, Lydia! I'm not going to cower around waiting to die! I'm going to figure out what's going on and then I am going to freaking murder whatever it is! And if that means doing whatever I can to keep myself from going absolutely _insane_ , that's what I'll do!"

He slammed on the break at a stoplight and breathed heavily. His fingers drummed on the wheel.

It was silent.

Guilt squirmed through his chest and he dropped his head. Crap. "I… sorry. You don't deserve that. I didn't mean that."

Lydia didn't speak. Stiles looked up at her. Her eyes were wide and, to his shock, wet. He'd stunned her. She breathed in shakily. "No, you did. And you're right"

"No, I-"

"Stop doing that! You're right!" Lydia's eyes hardened. She took in a deep breathe and then nodded once. "We have to just keep going. And then we're going to kill whatever wants to hurt you. That's all there is to it."

Stiles's eyes widened. They didn't usually talk about killing. Scott was pretty dead set on his Batman moral code thing. He had never questioned Scott's decision on that matter, but he knew it was naive to assume that everyone else had the same moral code as you did. Bad guys took advantage of good people like Scott. Stiles didn't voice this opinion of his ever, actually, because he knew it would upset Scott. But it was his opinion all the same. Maybe before the nogitsune, he might have hesitated. But not now. Something had shifted. There was a priority change. That thing had _loved_ pain so much. It relished in it. Things like that, things that killed for no reason other than pure enjoyment, or maybe because they didn't care at all, things like that needed to die.

If he knew now what he knew then, Stiles would have killed Deucalion. He would have tried. He would have killed the Darach too if he had the ability. If the nogitsune could be killed, he'd do that too. They were evil. They deserved to get punished for what they'd done. That's what justice looked like and at some point, putting bad guys in time out just wasn't enough for Stiles.

Now, something was going around killing animals and causing Lydia to his oncoming demise. He didn't know what it was but if he came across it, he wasn't going to hesitate to defend himself. It wasn't likely that he'd be able to kill something like this, but Stiles wasn't planning on pulling any punches. And apparently, neither was Lydia.

Stiles leaned forward to squint at the house numbers. They were almost to Deaton's.

"Stiles?"

"... yeah?"

Lydia unbuckled her seatbelt. Her voice was stern, rebuking. "We did not go through all of that awfulness with the nogitsune for you to go and die on m- on us."

Stiles cracked a grin even though this was not remotely funny. "Ey, ey, Captain."

A few seconds later, Scott pulled up and parked next to them. Stiles pocketed his keys and they all made for the front door. Deaton lived in a typical, one-story suburban house that was about as bland as Sunday loafers. There was something off about it that Stiles couldn't determine exactly. He just… didn't like it. He glanced at Scott. "Does it look _off_ to you or is that just me?"

Scott frowned and inhaled. He shrugged. "Seems fine? He's got mountain ash everywhere, but that's to be expected." As they walked closer to the front door, Stiles saw that there was, in fact, mountain ash everywhere. It was in all the potted plants, it lined the edge of the building and the windowsills. At the front door, a pair of massive metal garden sheers hung open, X-shaped on the wall. Underneath was a quaint wooden sign- _welcome._ Stiles stared at the shears, irritated. What kind of dumb thing was that to put on a door? He couldn't just put a horseshoe up like every other superstitious person?

Then again, Deaton wasn't superstitious, he was cautious and prepared.

Still.

"Deaton is so weird."

Scott frowned at him and knocked on the door. "Dude, what is your deal?"

Stiles shifted his weight uncomfortably and lifted his hands in the air. He didn't really know. "Just sayin'."

They waited a minute and no one came to the door. Scott knocked again, louder now. "Doc? Doc, it's Scott! We need to talk to you!"  
Nothing.

Stiles opened his mouth to suggest they just forget about Deaton and go find Mr. Argent instead (despite the fact that Mr. Argent had already said he didn't know what the rune meant) When the door cracked open.

Deaton looked out at them with a guarded expression which gave away absolutely nothing. The hallway behind him was dark. Stiles inched back. "Hello, children." Deaton sounded tired, resigned perhaps. His eyes were deep-set and bloodshot and his shirt was wrinkled and he looked every bit like a crumpled bit of newspaper. This was far from the Deaton they typically knew. "I suppose I owe this visit because of the recent odd happenings."

Scott nodded rapidly. "We've been trying to reach you, but the vet was closed and-"

"I'm afraid I can't help you." Deaton started to close the door.

"What?"

"I don't know anything that would be of help, unfortunately-" Lydia grabbed the door before it could close, pushing pass Scott and glaring at Deaton.

"We don't have the luxury of being brushed off, Dr. Deaton. So unless you are being held captive, we are going to talk to you because you _obviously_ know _something_ , which is better than us since we know _nothing._ "

Both boys stared at her in shock, but they shouldn't have. This was Lydia after all and Lydia didn't take bull from anyone.

Deaton hesitated and then nodded. He pulled back the door and Scott and Lydia walked in. Stiles hesitated, not liking the dark hallway beyond one bit. Something was wrong. Something was really, really-

"Oh! Sorry about that!" Deaton jumped forward. With a flick of his wrist, he shut the open sheers on his door.

Stiles blinked. How was this guy actually not crazy? Shaking his head, Stiles followed them into the house.

It actually wasn't as dark as he thought once he was inside. Deaton had a sort of eighty's cowboy decor going on that Stiles wasn't super fond of. But he couldn't really fault him too much for his lack of interior decorating skills. Then again, there were no less than seven cowboy hats hanging around the room, lampshades with painted horses on them, and, ah, _there_ were the horseshoes on the wall, so maybe he could.

They followed Deaton to the kitchen where he gestured for them to take a seat at the table. The table in question was covered in books and loose papers, bottles, and juices, and other icky things Stiles did _not_ want to know the contents of. He took a seat gingerly on the edge of a chair and hoped this meeting would go by quickly.

Deaton shuffled through some pages, chewing on his lip. "I have been researching for the rune since I first saw it. I thought I knew what it was, but I wanted to make sure. I closed up the vet because… well, this could all be very dangerous and it was better to keep these books in my house-"

Scott leaned forward. "So you know what it is? Do you know what made it?"

Deaton caught his words a few times and shut the book in front of him. "Shouldn't you all be at school?"

"It was a teacher meeting day," Lydia offered. "But this is more important anyway."

Deaton clearly didn't want to talk about this. Scott didn't seem to be picking up on that. Was he not seeing Deaton's nervous glances? The way his hand was shaking? What the actual heck was could scare _Deaton_?

Deaton caught Stiles's eye but hastily looked away. He took a deep breath and seemed to come to some decision. "I believe the rune is Celtic in origin. It means something like _gateway_ , or crossroads."

They stared at him.

"So… what does that mean?" Stiles said.

"I can't be entirely sure but, it is possible that the runes, these _sacrifices_ , as they may well be, are building up to making a gateway."

Scott frowned. "Like how the nogitsune got through the nemeton?"

Deaton wrinkled his nose. "Vaguely. But the nogitsune was here in this world. It was merely trapped. It used the doors in your minds, or Stiles's mind, rather, to exist here. This is different. This is a forced opening between dimensions. Something is trying to come through-"

"I'm sorry-" Stiles held up a hand. "Did you just say _dimensions_? What is this, _Doctor Who_?"

"Not remotely," Deaton continued. He had a way of keeping his voice so steady, almost monotone, in a sort of whisper. Stiles found it irksome. "There are many creatures that reside in worlds near our own, but only one type that would attempt to get through using Celtic magic."

They waited.

"Well?" Lydia snapped. "What is it?"

Slowly, Deaton opened his book. He turned it around so that they could see. On the page of the very old, very large book, there was a faded drawing of a strange, angular person with glowing cat-like eyes and a ethereal beauty that was almost painful to look at. They were wearing luxurious coats of various color and style, like they had decided to wear parts of clothing from every piece of clothing in their wardrobe. It made Stiles think of the Mad Hatter mixed with a Tolkien-esk elf. Deaton sighed. "The Fae."

There was a shocked pause.

And then Scott spoke up. "Well. Banshees, werewolves, fox spirits, why not Fae… I'm guessing we're not talking about Tinker Bell, here."

Deaton huffed. "Not even a little bit."

Stiles huffed and sat back with his arms crossed. "Okay fine. So what does it want? Why is it trying to come here? Does it want to hurt people?"

Deaton shook his head and closed the book. He chewed his lip thoughtfully. "All the lore seems to say that Fae have… odd moral compasses. They are very old and mortality is foreign to them. And, yes, they are dangerous. Impossibly dangerous. Fae breathe magic. They _exist_ in it. While humans are creatures of logic and mathematics and science and order, they are creatures of disorder, chaos, and their own type of laws. Regular laws of physics don't apply to them. They are nearly impossible to kill." It was making more sense now why Deaton was so frightened.

Stiles opened his mouth.

"Fortunately, there are only a few reasons these types of Fae come to our world, especially at this time of year. After all, there's only one day until Halloween. That's probably when they'll make it through their gateway."

"What reasons?" Lydia asked.

Deaton's eyes were heavy. He tapped his fingers nervously on the cover of his book and kept his eyes down. "As I said, they are not orderly beings. This could all be on a whim."

Stiles scowled. He did not like this whatsoever. These Fae were far too similar to the last villain they faced. It was nearly impossible to plan against a creature that acted at random. "So you're saying they might come here for a killing spree… on a whim?"

Deaton lifted his hands up. "Or not. They usually don't mean people harm unless someone offends them."

"Yeah, that's what people said about the nogitsune and we all know how that went-"

"Stiles-" Scott warned.

Stiles was on a roll, though. "We can't keep doing this! These things just keep on coming! Why do these _chaos_ thing keep coming after us!"

No one said anything, but Lydia gave him a look and it was soft and it was kind, and Stiles found himself calming down a bit. He sighed and dropped his head to the table. "Sorry. Continue."

It took a minute, but then Deaton did. "We still have at least twenty-four hours. I've been researching as much as I can."

Stiles wanted, he _really wanted_ , to give Deaton a piece of his mind. This was serious and Deaton had just been hiding in here, not giving them information!

Scott kneaded his brow. He cursed quietly. "Okay… okay, so, can we talk to them? Is there a way to contact them? Reason with them?"

"Reason about what?" Lydia said. "You don't know what they want. They could want nothing."

"Or they could want to eat us all-"

"Stiles, please."

"It's true!"

They looked up to Deaton, who was already opening more books. "I think I read about a spell somewhere… If we knew where the gate was going to open, you could at least meet them when they arrive." He nodded a few times, settling on a page in his book. "Yes. I could do that."

Scott looked relieved. He sat back. "Okay. That's something. That's a plan"

That's a suicide attempt, Stiles thought.

"How fast can you make it?"

Deaton pursed his lips. "I could have it ready by tomorrow. In the meantime, you should try finding as much pure iron as possible. Just in case. It's like wolfsbane to them."

Stiles didn't like this vague, wishy-washy plan they had going on, but it wasn't like he had a better idea. They continued talking, discussing possible things that could be made of iron, and Stiles stopped paying attention.

When Scott and Lydia, stood up to leave, Stiles trailed behind them. Something was bugging him. "Is there anything else we should know about them?" he asked suddenly.

Deaton froze up. He looked him directly in the eye, struggled, and then shook his head. "Not that I am aware of."

Stiles didn't believe him for an instant. But Scott was calling for him at the door. With a low curse, Stiles twisted around to follow his friends out of the door, but Deaton grabbed his arm.

"Stiles," he said. "Perhaps you ought to sit this one out. These beings are incredibly dangerous."

Stiles gave him a look. He clearly did not understand Stiles if he thought _that_ was going to make him lay low. He pulled out of Deaton's grasp. "Funny. See, I don't _do_ the whole 'sit out and wait for the storm to pass' thing? I'm more of a 'dive head first into potential danger out of curiosity' person?" Unlike _some_ people.

Deaton crossed his arms. "I know."

Shaking his head, Stiles left him. What a total piss pants.

"So he's totally lying about something," he said, the moment the door was closed.

Scott frowned. "I would have heard his heartbeat if he was lying, Stiles. What is your problem with him today?"

Stiles blinked disbelievingly at Scott. Seriously? Stiles stuffed his hands in his pockets and glared at the doorway with those open sheers dangling from the top. "Whatever. Let's go find some iron. If he's right, we don't have a lot of time."


	3. Chapter 3

That night, Stiles had a horrible dream.

He was in a locker.

This was not an uncommon way to start his nightmares. He was so used to it that it shouldn't be frightening anymore. But it was. He couldn't move his arms hardly at all, his legs were cramping up, and it was so hot in here he could hardly breathe.

He stood very still. "Oh, gods." Sweat beaded down his neck and on his upper lip. He could taste the salt. "This is just in your head. Just in your head-" It was dark but he could look through the slits in the metal. He was not in the boy's locker room, as he expected; as he usually he was in this nightmare. He was breathing too fast. Too lightly. He punched the door. "Let me out! Hey! Hey, someone let me out!" His voice broke and he continued hitting the door. Faster and faster and faster-

"Don't worry!" said a voice.

Everything stopped.

It was a little boy's voice. A kid. Stiles swallowed thickly, shaking. " Get me out of here! "

"What's the numbers?"

Stiles didn't know. This wasn't his locker. Only the big kids got lockers. The 5th and 6th graders.

"I'll- I'll get a teacher!"

"No!" Stiles pressed his face up to the crack. On the other side, the boy was looking in at him. Their eyes met. It was Scott! "I already got in trouble. I'm not s'posed to be over here!" Neither was his rescuer, for that matter.

"Oh," the boy Scott whispered. "Okay. I'll. Um… Oh! Oh, look!"

Stiles thought that was a stupid thing to say because he couldn't see anything. "What is it?"

"I don't think it needs a code. You just have to open it this way…" Some metal things changed around. Stiles hastily wiped his eyes. He wasn't crying. He didn't cry about things anymore. He'd already cried enough. But he hated being locked in a locker and those kids did it all the time.

The door opened, and Stiles fell out onto boy.

But suddenly, the boy wasn't Scott anymore. A little blonde child with a pointy nose stared up at him. He opened his mouth. "ʍɥo ɐɹǝ ʎon?"

Stiles's brain buzzed. What was that? "I don't understand you. What're you saying?"

The boy blinked. He didn't seem to understand Stiles anymore than Stiles understood him. "I lᴉʞǝ ʎon," the boy said. He smiled at him. "ʍɥɐʇ's ʎonɹ uɐɯǝ¿"

Stiles didn't know what exactly he was supposed to say. He hedged a guess. "I'm Stiles."

Apparently, that was the wrong answer. "No."

A clock ticked in the background.

The light and color bled out of the room. Stiles stopped walking. He wasn't a little boy anymore. Neither was the other boy. They stared at each other and Stiles gulped. What had been a quiet elementary school was now a broken place filled with dust, shattered glass, and cold light. Golden blobs of light floated in the distance and there was a ringing in Stiles's ears. Stiles tried to take a step, but his feet were stuck to the floor. He fell and the shock of it jarred up his forearms and his hands were stuck in black tar and he couldn't breathe and there wasn't any air left between him and the boy. The blonde boy knelt down to look at him with green eyes slitted like a cat's.

"Don't hurt me. You don't want to hurt me."

They were children again.

Sitting on his knees, Stiles stuck out his tongue as he lined his army guys up. They both had marbles as weapons to attack each other's armies. The other boy lay on his stomach, marbles ready to be flicked.

"My mom," Stiles said. He flicked a marble at the boy's guys and then rolled them all at once. "IT'S A BOMB ATTACK!"

"That's not fair!"

Stiles wasn't scared anymore. "My mom called me Mischief."

Mischief.

Stiles blinked and the scene changed. The boy shoved Stiles against a door, claws holding him by the neck. Suddenly the boy's hands were searing hot. Stiles screamed in agony as a spot at the base of his neck smoked and blistered-

Stiles woke up sweating and gasping and tangled in his blankets. He grabbed his neck reflexively, only to jerk back in pain. He didn't dare close his eyes lest he saw the school again. Stumbling to his feet, Stiles threw himself out of his bedroom and down the hall to the bathroom, where he flicked on the light.

He squinted, rubbed his eyes, but it was already fading even as he looked at it. It was the rune, branded into his skin right at the base of his neck.

A moment later, it faded to white, and then it was gone.

Stiles stared. He touched the spot lightly, but it didn't hurt. Did he just imagine that? Maybe he'd dreamed it?

Shaking his head, Stiles left the bathroom flopped back into his bed. What the heck was that?

Stiles scrubbed his face with his hands, wriggled and tugged his sticky shirt off. What time was it? He picked up his phone. **6:36 AM.** He dropped the phone to his chest. It wasn't even worth going back to sleep. He had to be at school at seven thirty anyway. But he didn't move. He tapped his fingers over the spot where the rune had been and tried very hard to convince himself that he had still been dreaming and the smell of burning flesh that still lingered in his mind was nothing but an illusion. He was just worried about tonight.

It was better to just not think about these things.

Maybe they should just avoid school entirely, go find Deaton, get the spell/potion/whatever it was to find the Fae and spend the rest of the day preparing for that. Stiles's heart was still beating too fast.

Forcing himself to sit up, Stiles was about to start getting dressed when his phone screen brightened. A text. From Scott. Deaton's almost done with the thing. I'll bring it to school.

Well, that decided it, then. Stiles picked up the phone and paced up and down his bedroom. He grabbed a shirt from his dresser at random, smelled it (eh, it was good enough), and then threw it on, followed by a pair of jeans.

He should tell Scott about the dream. He should tell him about Lydia and he should tell him about the scream and he should tell him about the horrible blanket of dread that was on his shoulders.

Stiles pocketed his phone nervously. It was fine. He'd already caused so many problems lately. He was fine.

Yeah.

* * *

At school, Scott and Stiles met at their lockers.

"So, do you have it?"

Scott nodded. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a necklace. At the end was a strange ball of twine wrapped around a hoop like a very small dreamcatcher. Stiles eyed it. "Okay, so what does it do?"

"Deaton said that once it's activated, it'll fly toward the thinnest spot between their world and ours. He's gonna meet us after school to activate it."

Stiles blinked. "It'll fly . Like some kind of Harry Potter thing."

Scott cocked his head. "Uh, yeah? I dunno, probably?"

"If you straight up tell me you still haven't seen Harry Potter, I am actually going to shrivel up and die right here."

Scott grimaced. "Uh…"

"I have never been so betrayed in my entire life" Stiles swung his arm over his shoulder, and they walked toward class "Okay so we get that thing going and then-" He stopped suddenly and stepped away from Scott. He frowned. "Did you see that?"

Scott had the charm hanging from his fingers. He shook his head. "See what?"

Stiles blinked a few times and then shook his head. They pushed open their classroom door. "I just… thought it was swinging weird for a second."

As they went to take their seats, Scott frowned. "That's not possible. It hasn't been activated."

Stiles shrugged and flopped into his seat, dropping his backpack on the floor. "I dunno, man." He didn't say anything, but he should have. He should have told Scott right then that the charm had started pulling toward Stiles. He should have told him everything that had happened of late. But he didn't, and later, as people often do, he would look back on this moment and wonder if things would have been different if he had told the truth.

School was an absolute torture session. Not only did Coach think it was a wonderful day to fling out emotional abuse on a platter, but time had slowed down to the speed of a disabled slug in a mud puddle. Stiles wanted to bang his head against his desk. He settled for tapping his fingers incessantly and clicking his pen until Scott smacked him with the back of his biology notebook.

" Sorry, " Stiles whispered. The people around him grumbled. Apparently, Scott wasn't the only one irritated by his movements. But he couldn't keep still. Not today (well, not usually, but especially today). His foot started jiggling all on its own and Stiles didn't bother stopping it.

The second the bell rung, Stiles was out of his chair, only to be swung around by his teacher's The bell doesn't dismiss you, I do! which meant he had to sit in class for five more minutes about to explode.

He was out of there like a bullet from a chamber the moment he could, and he scrambled across the school to meet Scott at the front door. He skidded around the corner. Scott was already there with Lydia, Kira, and Malia. Kira and Malia had apparently been filled in. They all looked up at him.

"Sorry, the teacher-" He gasped for breath. "She was… it was… late…. Let's just... go."

Lydia gave him an unimpressed eyebrow, but Kira swallowed a smile, so he took that as a win. They walked out of school quickly, the more human of them in coats. Actually, only Lydia wore a (fashionable, yellow) coat because Stiles had left his at home on accident. Malia, Scott, and Kira didn't appear to need coats despite the late fall chill, which wasn't surprising. The sky was overcast and gunky, and the trees just barely hung onto their leaves. It was a very cold day for California overall, and Stiles hugged his arms around himself as he fumbled for his keys. His breath hung in the air.

"Where did Deaton want to meet us?" Kira asked.

"The Vet."

They piled into Stiles's jeep, the three girls in the back, and Scott in the passenger seat. The ride there was uneventful and tense. They were nervous, all of them. These things were going to arrive tonight and none of them had the remotest idea what they wanted. Stiles would guess they weren't coming for a cup of coffee, but he kept that to himself.

Deaton was at the front door when they piled out. He had several metal pipes, those metal shears, an old ironer, some fireplace pokers amongst other things. Scott had put some pipes in Stiles's car earlier, but this definitely added to the whole iron weaponry they had going on.

Deaton quickly started handing out a variety of necklaces and bracelets with little iron charms. Or, Stiles would guess they were iron.

"Doesn't Stiles get one?"

Stiles shrugged. "I've got pipes. I'm good."

A wind blew through their clothes and Stiles shivered. They couldn't have a nice warm night to go tromping around in the woods, now could they? Scott was talking and Stiles forced himself to concentrate.

"... go with Stiles, and the rest of you go with me."

Stiles frowned. "Uh, what?"

Lydia shifted her weight. She didn't look him in the eye. "I just… I just thought maybe you should search with Deaton. I think that's a good idea. It's going to be really dangerous and… yeah."

Deaton nodded. "We'll split up. I'll go with Stiles with one charm, you all go with Scott with the other charm. These things are not very accurate anyhow."

Stiles boiled under his skin. He knew exactly what she was doing. She'd convinced Scott that he shouldn't come along because he was human, and it was so freaking sneaky of her. He couldn't say no, because that would mean telling Scott about Lydia's scream, and then Scott would just make him stay anyway. It was a little weird how fast Deaton was agreeing but Stiles didn't care all that much. He glared at Lydia until she met his eyes and looked away from him with her nose held high. How dare she mother him like this.

The others didn't seem to notice. Scott gave Stiles a concerned look. "Are you cool with that?"

Stiles didn't try to hide his displeasure. "Cool? No, not really. But whatever. 'Stiles is only human,' after all."

Scott searched his face and Stiles got the impression that they would be talking about this later. Deaton stepped in before the brewing argument could get any further. "We should be on our way then. They could be here anytime."

Without further hesitation, Deaton took out one of the charms that Scott had, and Scott handed him the other. Deaton closed his fists around them, muttered something, and handed Scott's back to him.

Stiles blinked. "What? That's it?"

Scott looked at the necklace closely, dangling from his fingers. "Are you sure it-?" But even as he spoke, the charm began to sway back and forth, as if pushed by the wind, and then it tugged toward the street. They all looked at each other. "Okay. That way it is." And with that, Scott, Lydia, Malia, and Kira started off toward the forest on the other side of the street.

Stiles crossed his arms. "This is literally such a crappy move. No offense, Deaton, but I am fully capable of being extremely, like, dangerous and whatever." He turned around when Deaton didn't respond. "Deaton? Uh… where did," Stiles spun in a small circle. "Where did you… go?"

A shuffle behind him.

Suddenly, a pang of dread dropped on Stiles like a wooden mallet. He cursed quietly and tried to turn toward the sound. There was Deaton.

"I'm sorry, Stiles-"

Stiles opened his mouth, but suddenly SLAM- something cracked against the back of his head. A wave of pain rolled over him, and the earth fell into his face. It was dark.

* * *

He woke up seconds later feeling absolutely horrible. His head pounded to the beat of his heart, and he could hardly see. It was dark and everything was fussy. There was something tight on his arms. On his wrists. He was tied to a chair!

Panic shook into the cracks of his cottoned brain, and he struggled against the restraints. What was going on? How did he get here? " Help!" he croaked. But that was not nearly loud enough. He tried again and ended up coughing on his own spit.

"It's alright, Stiles," a voice said soothingly. Stiles blinked and squinted. He knew that voice. "I'm not going to hurt you."

His vision started to settle. He could see he was in a small, dark room with a single barred window that let in blue evening light from outside. A blobbish sort of form crouched in front of him. His captor, surely.

Wait. Scott! He needed to call Scott.

Stiles shivered. "I'm not afraid of you," he managed. "I have seen way more scary things than you." And he had. It was false to say that he wasn't afraid. But he wasn't as afraid as he had been a few weeks ago. Nothing quite compared to the nogitsune.

The person sighed. "I know. I wish I didn't have to do this and I hope someday you'll forgive me. I'm just trying to keep you safe."

Stiles's ears rang. There was something heavy on his chest. It itched his skin like poison ivy. "You've got a weird concept of _safe_ ," he spat.

His captor sighed again and came closer.

Stiles recognized him suddenly, as his vision finally decided to cooperate. It was Deaton. Siles jerked from him and cursed loudly. "I knew something was off about you!"

Deaton grimaced. "You probably sensed the large amounts of iron, not to mention dispelling charms I have on my person. It makes sense, given how close you are to the end, but that's not important. Stiles, are you listening to me?"

Stiles tightened his jaw and wished he could punch the living daylights out of this man. "I thought you were our friend !"

Deflated, Deaton stood up to pace. He didn't say anything for a long time, and Stiles took the opportunity to look at his surroundings quickly. There was something still on his chest. Stiles curled his neck down trying to see what it was.

A necklace. One of those iron charms. Deaton must have done something to it. It was keeping him groggy. Did he do that to all the charms? Was he trying to hurt Scott too? What about the others? He needed to warn them. They could be headed right into some kind of trap!

Around the room, there was a multitude of metal piping, a shelf filled with jars of things Stiles couldn't discern, another shelf filled with books, and another with food and other survival supplies. This must be some kind of storeroom. A lockdown… place? Where were they? Where they still at the vet? How long had he been unconscious?

"Scott is going to kick your little- no, scratch that, I am going to kick you back into your mother's womb when I get out of here!"

Deaton paused long enough to grant him an unimpressed stare.

"I am only keeping you here because I know you won't stay put otherwise. But you have to understand, if I can keep you safe, if I can keep them away from you for the rest of the night, they may get bored. They're fickle creatures. They'll have to go back to their world, and you'll be safe for now." He cocked his head at Stiles. "Do you understand?"

"What? What are you talking about?"

Deaton sighed. "I promise. I'll explain in the morning. For now… I need to reinforce the gates." With that, he started for the door.

Stiles couldn't believe it. Had the guy gone completely insane? "You're just going to leave me here?"

Deaton turned at the doorway, looking almost sad. "Believe me, Stiles. This is the safest place you could possibly be."

And with that, he shut the heavy, metal door behind him with a hearty slam.

Stile was left in the darkness, the only sounds being his harsh breathing and the dripping condensation down one of the walls.

Stiles dropped his head, cursed, and struggled with the rope binding his hands. Panic started to claw up his throat and Stiles forced himself to breathe. Breathe slower. Calm down. Focus. He couldn't freak out right now. He couldn't afford it.

Stiles closed his eyes and felt for the knot on the rope. It was impossibly tight. Focus, Stiles.

Addison had been trained on how to get out of a situation like this. She'd showed him and Lydia at one point. What was the first thing? What could he do?

Stiles opened his eyes and scoured the room. There was nothing sharp nearby. Cutting the rope wasn't exactly possible with his fingernails.

But what if he…

Stiles kicked at his shoe, pushing and pushing it with his heel until his sneaker came off. Good. That was a start. Now that his shoe was gone, Stiles tugged at his leg and wriggled it until he freed his foot from the rope. He did the same to the other foot.

Okay. Now he had feet. What was next?

He needed to get his hands free. Stiles wriggled his wrists back and forth. It was very tight, but there was a slight give. He thought it might be because it wasn't actually a rope that was tying him, but some type of polyester dog leash. Whatever. Either way, it was stretching. He pulled and pulled until there!

He had a hand again!

The next hand was easy, and after that, it was just a matter of wriggling down under the rope around his chest. Once he was free, he gasped and threw off the charm. It clattered in the corner and instantly, Stiles felt ten times more alert.

It took him twenty minutes, tops, to get out of the chair and Stiles was impressed with himself. It took Addison three hours, didn't it? He smiled, smug. Then again, Addison would have been tied with real, professional knots, which he doubted Deaton was capable of, so maybe he shouldn't be so smug. Perhaps as well, Deaton hadn't tied him as tight because, in truth, he really did not want to hurt him. Stiles played with that idea before carefully setting it aside. He didn't have enough proof to consider that Deaton really was trying to keep him safe.

No. It was more likely that this was a trap somehow. Stiles pursed his lips and forced himself to accept that for now.

Stiles put his shoes back on and tried the metal door quietly. It was locked, as he expected. There was no way through there. To the window, then. Stiles walked up to it, massaging his wrist, and stood up on top of the chair he'd freed himself from to peer outside. He couldn't see much over the overgrown grass, but he thought he caught a glimpse of a familiar white fence. This was behind the vet. It had to be. Stiles pushed open the window and tugged at the metal bars. The wind bit at his knuckles. How on earth was he going to remove the bars?

Stiles chewed his lip and thought. His heart was racing and he knew Deaton could be back any second. He needed to get out of here now . But all he could think about was this one MythBusters episode where they tried to melt metal bars with salsa, and that was such an unhelpful memory that it actually infuriated him. "Don't have time for acid," he muttered.

Jumping down from the chair, Stiles started sifting through the shelves. He needed something strong. Something fast that could quickly get rid of metal bars. He knocked down several cans of food and winced, waiting for Deaton to come running back in here and tie-

Wait.

Wait.

There was an easier way to do this.

Stiles picked up a hunk of wood from off the ground and pressed himself against the shelf next to the door. He took a deep breath.

And then Stiles started screaming. He screamed as loud and as pain-filled as he possibly could. He screamed until he was sure no one was going to come, and then he kept screaming. "HELP! SOMEONE! DEATON! HELP ME THERE'S SOMETHING IN HERE!" and the like, until he heard footsteps running down a staircase.

He tensed.

Deaton jerked open the door, and before Stiles could even think to hesitate, his body rushed forward, and he brought the wood down on the back of Deaton's head.

Deaton dropped like a stone.

And Stiles dropped the wood, stunned. That actually worked. How had that actually worked?

"Please don't be dead. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, please don't be dead-" Stiles crouched down and rolled him over. Deaton was bleeding from a large gash on the back of his head, but he was breathing. Stiles relaxed slightly.

As he was considering whether or not to tie Deaton up like Deaton had tied him up, the ground shook beneath Stiles's feet.

Stiles stilled, arms out to steady himself. Earthquakes were common occurrences where he lived, but he very much doubted that this was a coincidence. He needed to get to Scott. He needed to get to him yesterday. Grabbing Deaton under his arms, Stiles vaguely dragged him to the edge of the room, where things would probably not fall on him, and then he stood up. "Sorry, Doc. Gotta go."

And with that, Stiles rushed out of the room. He scrambled up a rickety wooden staircase and came up out of a trapdoor in the floor of... a bathroom decorated with pink stickers of cats and dogs.

Well, Alan Deaton was nothing if not innovative. Stiles ran out of the bathroom, through the cat kennel 'lounge' as it was called, and jumped over the small gate that kept unwanted visitors out of the veterinary. He was outside in what felt like an instant.

He scanned the parking lot. There! His jeep was still here. Stiles ran for his car, threw himself into the driver's seat, only to pause. His keys.

He felt in his pockets. No keys.

"Deaton probably took them. It's okay. It's okay." Stiles raced back out of the car, into the vet, and scrambled around the desk. He knocked over cups of pencils, emptied drawers. And there! There in a little dish! His keys and phone. He grabbed them, and in less than ten seconds, was screeching down the road.

Stiles didn't know where he was going. He didn't know where Scott could have gone. So as he drove toward the forest, he brought up Scott's contact and called him.

The phone rang once, and Scott answered. **"Finally, Stiles! I've been calling you forever! Where are you-"**

"No time! I think this is a trap! Something is a trap, Scott! You've got to get away, okay! Where are you?"

 **"What? What are you talking ab-"**

" Where are you? "

"The charm led us to the lookout point at the edge of town. We're there now. Something is- there's-"

Suddenly the ground under Stiles's jeep began to shake. A tree fell backward into the forest. Scott's voice dropped into static. The wheel jerked under his hands.

"Scott! Scott, are you there?!" Stiles cursed and hung up. It was fine. He knew where they were.

Jolting the car left up a dirt road, Stiles started toward the lookout point. The earthquakes kept coming. They were getting worse, and the road was starting to fill with trees and rocks.

He couldn't drive anymore.

Stiles made a quick assessment and then turned his car off. He'd go the rest of the way by foot. Scott needed to know this was a trap. He needed to know that Deaton was up to something!  
Jumping to the damp earth, Stiles grabbed one of the metal pipes. It was just like at bat. Sure. Shutting the door, he stuffed his keys into his pocket and left his jeep in the woods. She'd be fine hopefully.

Stiles was sharp, alert. His heart pounded in his aching head like it was trying to squish its way out of his skull. He tightened his grip on the pipe and kept running uphill to the lookout point. The lookout point was at the very edge of a cliff in the forest just outside of town. Hikers liked to picnic there and teenagers liked to do… other things there. Stiles darted around a pile of rocks, almost missing it.

But something caught his eye and Stiles now had his eyes on the floor as he ran.

Mushrooms. There were mushrooms everywhere. They grew out of every crack in the ground, every damp spot. And they were huge, some of their tops larger than Stiles's head. The further he ran, the more mushrooms there were. And it wasn't just mushrooms. Weirdly large flowers dotted his path and he thought they turned their pretty faces toward him as he ran. What the heck?

He was gasping. Stiles was in better shape than he had been before it became common for him to run for his life, but he wasn't an Olympian. Not to mention, the nogitsune had wreaked whatever muscle build he had when it made him sick. Forcing himself to breathe through his nose even though it hurt, Stiles slowed and ducked behind a large tree that was tattooed with lovers names. He stuttered and gasped and his legs shook. The lookout point was just ahead. He could see the edge of the cliff, where the world dropped off. From this position, it looked like there was nothing but sky beyond this. It was the edge of the earth. The end of the world.

He squinted. Where was Scott? Where were Lydia, Malia, Kira?

He came closer, hiding behind another tree. The pipe was now sweaty in his palms and if he'd been cold before, he wasn't now.

Someone screamed and Stiles jumped. That was Malia. He recognized her voice. Where were they? He came closer. He could hear sounds of a fight now. People shouting, grunting, falling, ripping fabric, the sound of knuckles against skin.

But as he came to the edge of the world, no one was there. The sounds were all around him. He spun in a circle. "Scott! Scott, where are you?" He didn't care if someone heard him now. His friends were in trouble. The pipe was shaking as he held it up and he hated that. He hated how he trembled. Behind him, the sun set into the earth.

"STILES!"

Scott's voice ripped through the air, tinged with a familiar rumbling roar Stiles was familiar with. Stiles swung toward him. Something in his mind shifted like he'd been listening to a radio station just slightly knocked out, and now he'd found the right number. The static cut away and he could see clearly. Stiles gasped in shock.

He was standing in a complex series of interlocking circles made out of mushrooms that glowed an eerie green and blue and yellow light. There! There was Scott! He was in full wolf form, snarling and snapping at something that held him back by his arms. The things, they shimmered against the forest background, and Stiles could only barely get a glimpse of their appearance before they were gone. Scott's eyes were wide and red and… and terrified.

Stiles lifted his pipe, backing away from the things in the forest. He scanned the floor. There were the rest of his friends, lying on the floor in various uncomfortable positions. Blood pooled around Lydia's head and Stiles's throat closed. He stiffened wet sob. He'd been right. This was a trap. He just didn't know who's. Or what was going on, or how everything had gone so horribly.

"STILES RUN!" Scott roared.

Stiles tried. He really did. He took a step backward, but one of the figures holding Scott lifted a hand, and vines grew up from the dirt. They tangled around his legs. Stiles shrieked, nearly falling.

In retrospect, he would realize that if he had taken any more steps back, he could have fallen off the cliff, but in the moment, he only knew that he was trapped and this was bad and Lydia was bleeding -

"STILES!"

Stiles's head whipped toward Scott. What was going on? Why couldn't he figure out what was going on?

Scott looked at him, his face human again. He was crying, Stiles realized suddenly. Why was Scott so scared?

Well. This wasn't going to do. "Let go of him, tinkerbells! I've got a- I've got a pipe! Don't test-" Stiles froze.

There was something standing in front of him. Not in the circle. He couldn't see it, exactly, but he could see a displacement in the air around it… if that makes any sense.

And then, all at once, he could see it.

The creature shimmered, and when Stiles blinked, suddenly it was standing there, looking vaguely bored. The creature was dressed in a Victorian, blue overcoat with gold buttons and long coat-tails. He had white stockings and shiny black shoes, and his hair was white as Foxfire, slicked back and waving slightly as if he was underwater. He was maybe in his mid-twenties. He had large, unearthly slitted eyes and a thin, powdered face with a tightly puckered mouth. He smiled needle-like fangs beneath those ruddy lips.

Stiles was caught between wanting to burst out laughing and crying. In fact, he thought he did burst out laughing. And then he was crying a second later.

He rushed at the creature, pipe raised, and swung for its neck with all his might. But the pipe passed through him and Stiles stumbled to the floor, carried by his momentum. In the dirt, Stiles tried to stand, but his head was aching and he couldn't breathe and everything was spinning around. He fell to his hands and knees. "What's, what's happening-"

The creature looked down at him with his hands clasped behind its back. "Goodness gracious," it said. It had a strange accent. It was almost British, but with a tinge of something else Stiles didn't recognize. "All that effort and it wasn't even iron." With a fluid grace, the creature knelt down next to Stiles and patted his head almost kindly. It picked up Stiles's pipe and it dissolved into nothing, and Stiles scrambled backward. "I admire the spirit, however. Very naughty indeed." It smiled at him again with those horrible fangs.

Stiles trembled. "W-what do you want?"

The creature cocked its head. "You don't know? Ah yes, of course. The curse of reason is still upon you, I suppose. No matter." Its eyes did not soften, but it patted his head again gently. "I am here to fetch you home again."

Stiles didn't know what that meant. He couldn't even start to try to understand that. All he could think was that the pipe hadn't even been iron and now he was sprawled in the dirt with Edward Scissorhands and it was… it was... really funny.

Light flickered in the creature's eyes. It looked up at the sun and sighed. "Off we go, then."

"Wait, wait-!"

"Hush. This will only hurt a little."

With no more warning, the creature pulled back and plunged its hand directly into the center of Stiles's chest.

That's right.

Stiles choked.

His brain fizzled and he thought I should be in pain right now.

Then the world narrowed.

He looked down. The creature had its hand in his chest, although he wasn't bleeding. Its fingers closed around something and it _pulled_.

Then the end of the world was blinding, intoxicatingly white.

* * *

AN: thanks for reading! Leave a review if you like :) I'd love to hear from you!


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